


Grantaire, Pierre, and Sydney Walk Into A Bar...

by AberrantAngel



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cross literature coolness, I don't even know what to tag this, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 19:17:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17493713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AberrantAngel/pseuds/AberrantAngel
Summary: Grantaire, Pierre Bezukhov, and Sydney Carton walk into a bar. What could possibly happen next? For the purpose of this fic let’s all pretend that place and time have no meaning.





	Grantaire, Pierre, and Sydney Walk Into A Bar...

**Author's Note:**

> Where did this idea come from? I don’t know but I like it! Please comment your reaction :)

_You are good for nothing, get out of here._

The words rang in Grantaire’s head as he stumbled over uneven stones towards the next bar. After so many drinks he’d been kicked out of the Corinthe and going back to the Musain was not an option. Tonight the absinthe wasn’t doing such a great job of erasing blonde curls and rose-colored lips from his mind. Instead it was only creating mirages of a tall man in a read coat turning the corner and a clear crisp voice calling him useless over and over. Perhaps he should go back to the opium dens as he had done before. That was the only way to truly clear the unwavering blue eyes from his mind. But Enjolras had asked countless times for him to stay clean of drugs. He would not let his Apollo down twice in one night.

He finally grasped the door handle to the bar and swung it open. It looked like a respectable joint with many other men pining and drinking over their swollen hearts. A particular man who seemed very well adjusted to the place had attracted a crowd around him to sing songs and tell stories. He seemed to be around the same age and had his dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Just by looking Grantaire saw the heartbroken look in his eyes betraying the man’s smile. It was just a dumb thought that he could have ever fit in with Les Amis de l’ABC. This was clearly the place he belonged. Far away from gorgeous idealists and their optimistic friends. 

“A heavy mug of wine for the gentlemen who has stepped through the door, barkeep!” The man left his crowd to meet Grantaire by the entrance as he called out the order. “It’s on me.”

“Well thank you, Monsieur,” Grantaire made a wobbly bow to the stranger, “Who exactly is it that I’m thanking?”

The man clapped him on the back and led him to the bar, “I’m called Carton, Sydney Carton. What about you, my friend?”

“Grantarie.” He introduced himself, “Is the wine I’m about to drink any good?”

“Drink enough of it and that won’t matter,” A voice said from the other end of the bar, “Although I prefer vodka.”

Grantaire turned to see an larger man with a scruffy beard and wirey glasses. There were numerous ways a man could be once he became inebriated. It was clear that this man was a philosophically frustrated drunk since he was sitting alone and those words seemed to be the first thing he had said all night.

“You make a fair point. I’ll take another drink,” Grantaire said to the bartender then turned to the large man, “and your name good sir.”

“Pierre Bezukhov, although there is no real point to know that.” Pierre took back a shot of some dark liquor and frowned.

It was almost perfect that the three of them had met. Pierre: the philosophical drunk, Sydney: the false happiness drunk, and Grantaire: the depressed drunk. He sipped his drink as the two other men got into a discussion about the state of France’s political system in the past years. It was just like the intellectual debate in the back room of the Musain, simply more depressing. 

“What about you? How do you feel about Napoleon?” Pierre addressed Grantaire with a judgemental look in his eye.

He thought about Enjolras again and laughed bitterly to himself, “I might call him Buonaparte for how my loyalties will end up.”

“You mean you don’t have your own opinion on the matter?” Sydney asked rather confused.

“At least he doesn’t like that devil of a man. One day I will kill him and maybe that will bring purpose to my life.” Pierre mused no longer really paying attention to the other men and mumbling to himself.

“Oh, trust me Sydney, I have my own opinions and I say them quite a lot.” Grantaire tried not to think about the argument.

“But your loyalties lie outside of your beliefs?” Sydney kept prodding.

“No. I am completely loyal to what I believe in. Sometimes too much so,” Grantaire finished off his wine and frowned into the empty glass.

“I understand. With such loyalty you must be a successful man of standing. What brings you to drink on a fine night?”

Grantaire scoffed, “I am not a good man, let alone a successful one. I guess I could say I’m here for the classic reason.”

“Right, the heart must be filled and if love won’t do the trick liquor comes next. I know you well, my friend.” Sydney glanced towards the door and Grantaire caught a stream of golden locks out of the corner of his eye. Was is the fearless revolutionary he had fallen so far for? No it was just a slender stranger. Sydney and him both did a sort of double-take before settling their attention back on each other.

“You both love some with gold hair don’t you,” Pierre said, “At least the graces of such a power have awoken you from your sleep.” He rested his head in his hands.

“My golden thread, Lucie,” Sydney said sadly, “My friend do you know of her?”

“I don’t know anyone called that. So what keeps you from her?” Grantaire felt it couldn’t hurt to hear from people in the same boat as him.

“She loves another man, a truly good man. A man I could have been if I wasn’t so… so lost. But I have to support her decisions because I’d rather see her happy.” Sydney’s eyes looked empty, “What of your fair-haired love?”

“More than what is possible keeps me from happiness. We are opposites and I only receive hatred from my antithesis. I don’t understand how someone can be as cold as ice yet as bold as fire.” Grantaire met Sydney’s eyes and they shared a moment of sympathy that only the most downtrodden hearts could understand.

“Pierre,” Sydney directed conversation away from dangerously tragic topics, “I have heard you are married, yet you say there is no love in your life.”

“Helene is my wife, but she is hardly a woman at all. She is more of a snake that has no care whether it kills a baby or a criminal. Plus she is rather preoccupied with other men. Why can’t I simply wake up from this depressing nightmare?”

Grantaire wasn’t sure how a man so desperate for love could exist in the same room as men wishing love had never touched them. Would he be better off without Enjolras? Probably not. He would be dead in a ditch with opium in his blood or might be gone by his own hand. Nothing really had meaning before his Apollo. It was like he couldn’t exist without Enjolras. Love was a prison, but sometimes it was safer in a locked room.

“Right well, that is enough of this horrible talk. Let us drink to smile and numb what hurts most! Let us sing!” Sydney yelled to the whole bar who erupted into some common song about heartbreak. Grantaire laughed every time the song mentioned women. There were things he could never tell about his love. He could never vent to strangers so well as the average drunkard.

Pierre didn’t engage in the jolities. He simply stared off into emptiness. Grantaire watched him wondering what thoughts could be flowing through his head when he had no muse to inspire ideas.

Suddenly the door flew open and everyone grew silent as a courier sprinted across the room, “Pierre Bezukhov you have an urgent letter from Marya Dmitrievna Akhrosimova.” He announced leaving a paper in front of Pierre and heading out the door. The addressee read the letter quickly than pulled up his jacket so quickly it took him a moment to find the sleeves. He rummaged in the pocket and placed some coins on the counter.

“I’m sorry to head out so early, you and Sydney have been good company. I wish you luck with your golden loves! I must go to aid a friend now,” Pierre was gone in only a matter of seconds and loud conversation resumed. 

Now Grantaire was the only man at the counter. Even the bartender seemed to look at him pitifully and placed another glass of wine in front of him, on the house. He would have to frequent this bar more often if he kept ending up with free drinks.

“Oh, Grantaire, you should not have to drink alone. Though knowing people like us you wouldn’t be unaccustomed to it. Let me sit with you to wallow in the dust of what men we could have been.” Sydney sat next to him again and leaned backwards against the bar. Grantaire nodded as a response and watched the other men sing.

They were loud and careless with the notes. Grantaire prefered soft string music to such a chorus. The men didn’t seem as miserable, perhaps they were not truly in love, just freshly heartbroken. It was fair for him to be envious of their state. Eventually they’d pick themselves back up and continue living. He was stuck.

Grantaire turned fully towards Sydney, “We are trapped aren’t we?”

“That’s the best way to describe it, isn’t it? Maybe one day we can find our escape.” It was a statement that they did not honestly accept, but they clinked glasses anyways. Neither one of them noticed that silence had returned until the downed their wine and set the mugs down.

“If I am not mistaken, my friend,” Sydney peered behind Grantaire, “The compelling presence of this golden-haired man is your fault.” Grantaire turned back to the man. He had made the connection between Enjolras’s curls and the hair Grantaire loved, but Sydney just looked knowing rather than surprised.

He turned slowly to brace himself for the appearance of Enjolras that had silenced the most rowdy of men. There was a bright glow around his chief in the dark room, or perhaps his inebriated mind was playing a cruel trick on him.

“Grantaire, might I have a word outside?” Enjolras spoke perfectly and Grantaire got up from his chair without even realizing it. If Apollo asks someone to do something it is never truly a choice.

Sydney called out as he was heading out the door, “Gold is rare, try not to lose it.”

_I wouldn’t dream of it_ , Grantaire thought to himself as Enjolras led him into the street. He was wearing the classic read jacket and his revolutionary pin. Curls tied loosely back were falling over a gentle collarbone that was exposed by Enjolras’s slightly unbuttoned shirt. The universe was not fair, especially not when crystal eyes met his own.

“I want to apologize for what I said before.” Enjolras said and Grantaire was shocked, he never tried to make amends, “And I hope you can forgive me and continue to attend meetings.”

“I cannot forgive you,” Grantaire said and Enjolras looked distraught so he quickly explained, “Because there is nothing to forgive. You only pointed out what was true.”

“But it isn’t true. You are not useless. Your arguments keep mine strong so that I am prepared to fight for what I believe in. You are important because you complete me.” Enjolras’s words make Grantaire’s heart stop. 

“You don’t mean that,” was all Grantaire could say. Enjolras thought for a second before he gently took Grantaire’s hand in his own and brought it to his lips.

“Come back to the Musain, Grantaire. I would appreciate it.” He began to let go of their hands but Grantaire held on. Enjolras looked up from their joint fingers with the ghost of a smile on his face. “We should talk once the meeting is over.”

The world seemed to bright for Grantaire to see, “We should.”

They walked with their hands clasped together until they reached the alley with a door to the back room of the Musain. Enjolras, so quickly that it seemed unreal, pressed his lips to the edge of Grantaire’s.

“Don’t forget that you agreed to speak with me later.” Is all he said before opening the door and leading them inside.

The gentle words from earlier echoed in Grantaire’s head and he felt them on his tingling lips.

_You complete me_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me on Tumblr @aberrantangel if you care.


End file.
